


Conversion

by wibblywobblytime77



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Conversion, Crossover, Gen, Genetic Engineering, Graphic Descriptions of Torture, Mind Manipulation, Mind Palace, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Sorry Not Sorry, alter ego
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblytime77/pseuds/wibblywobblytime77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how Sherlock creates Khan, and why. Also, it now has a workable resolution so I will be continuing work on this. All current chapters have been edited and reposted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversion

          I weakly attempted to pry my heavy eyelids apart, the action a struggle following the unconscious state I’d occupied mere moments earlier. After three torturous blinks, a few blurry blobs haloed by light came into my line of sight. It took a few seconds for my vision to focus, and when it did I was alarmed to see a masked surgeon leaning over me. My eyes ran in the harsh glare of the light. He held a scalpel that glinted coldly in the white lights. A shiver of fear crawled up my spine. I swallowed hard and tried to think of any possible circumstances that could have lead to this. There was a gaping hole in my memory that left far too many questions unanswered. I tried to move but found that my arms, legs, and head were strapped securely to the operating table. I strained against the restraints and looked the doctor in the eye, the only sliver of humanity visible through his medical garb.  
          "Why am I here? What is this place? I demand to be released at once," my voice quivered only a tiny bit, betraying my carefully concealed fright. I had never liked hospitals, even as a child, and this definitely drove the point home. I was having a terrible time containing my hysteria and I could tell that I was not far from a panic attack if things were not explained immediately.  
          The surgeon chuckled. "I don't think that you are in any position to make demands, Mr. Holmes.” His voice was low and dark. It had a sister quality to it that put me even more on edge.  
          He walked around the table and out of my line of sight. I became even more apprehensive when I couldn't see the man, not the that there was anything I could do if I could see him, it just made the suspense that much worse. His shadow fell across my face as he bent over to fiddle with the top of my head, swabbing it with a cold substance that dried almost instantly and something else. The still logical part of my brain told me that it was likely alcohol to disinfect the area in preparation for an incision. I was suddenly aware of the air moving unimpeded over my bare scalp. My hand was restrained from rising to feel the utter lack of hair by the straps. I swallowed a bit of rising bile. I clamped down on the panic because if there was one thing I could control in this situation it was myself. I would not give them the pleasure. One thing I was sure of by now is that these people were not working in my favor.  
          The last swab was removed and the latex covered fingers retreated only to be replaced with the sensation of something much too sharp against my scalp. The surgeon pulled the scalpel slowly down the top of my head to make what felt like an inch long incision in my scalp. Warm blood ran down the back of my head and my stomach turned with nausea. There was no anesthetic. The thin line burned horribly. The surgeon applied something thick and cold to the cut and in a matter of seconds, the pain was reduced to a mere memory.  
          The high pitched scream of a drill shocked me back to awareness and suddenly the intense head and body restraints made sense; they going to drill into my skull. Ice cold fear froze me in place; this was happening and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The pitch of the drill changed I felt an odd, numb pain at the top of my head right at the center of the cut. It only lasted a second before it broke through and was quickly stilled and removed.  
          The surgeon walked back into my line of sight to pick up a metal syringe with an alarmingly thick needle. He carefully depressed the plunger so that only a single drop of liquid was wasted. An involuntary full body shudder ran through me and would not cease as my dread surged higher still. He walked back around behind my head. I heard the sound of metal on metal as the syringe was slotted into the same harness that had enabled the hole to be drilled. I felt as the slight shift surgeon pushed the plunger down and it felt like someone had pumped pressurized magma into my skull. It was agonizing. I could feel it spreading through my cranium. In my sinuses, in my eye sockets; the entirety of my skull pulsed with pain as the foreign fluid dispersed slowly throughout it. I could hear someone screaming in the distance and with a shock, I realized it was me. To make it even worse, it felt like someone was pricking around the place where the pain was the most intense with a needle. The rational part of my brain realized that he must be stitching me up. Head wounds bleed profusely.  
          The surgeon walked back into my line of sight and wiped the blood, my blood, off the blade of the scalpel with an alcohol swab. With the now clean scalpel, he made a small incision over my sternum allowing him access to the bone. More pain. It didn't even register when he pushed another identical needle into my sternum. When he pushed the plunger down this time, I was certain that my chest was going to explode with the pent up fire that now filled my veins. It didn't. I tried to speak through the immense throbbing pain in my head and chest, to get some answers.  
          "Why- why are you doing this to me?" I panted.  
          "Because, Mr. Holmes, you are perfect for this experiment." He said this as if it should be obvious, his low voice nearly expressionless. "From our observations, you are a sociopath, in good physical condition, and quite brilliant intellectually. It is your mind that we are most interested in but your physical strength is also extremely necessary for this.”  
          I breathed out one last question, "What, what are you doing to me?"  
          "Why, Mr. Holmes, we are enhancing you, in all of those areas. More intelligent, less emotional, and even physically stronger.” This time his voice held the barest trickle of pride.  
          He turned away and prepped another identical syringe. He cut to the bone on both of my hips and at this point, I could barely feel it. The rational part of my brain told me I was likely going into shock. He shoved the needle into one hip then the other. The stress of this was becoming too much to handle. The part of my brain that had been keeping me fighting shut down. I gave into the baser fictions of my humanity and screamed again and again until my voice was a hoarse croak. The pain spread to my arms and legs, doubling my anguish. No longer able to scream, silent tears rolled down my cheeks and shudders racked my body. Finally, blessedly, my mind sunk into a dark place where the pain no longer mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you like it!


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